The wooden door of Oderick's house creaked open, letting sunlight and the scent of damp soil spill into the stuffy room.
Creeeak.
I stepped out first, followed by Arad, Hans, Stella, and Ivan. After the heavy conversation inside, the outside air felt sharper than before. Constantia was already moving under the morning sun, rough and unfinished, yet full of restless energy. Workers carried timber across the open paths, villagers shouted to one another near the warehouse, and the dull sounds of construction echoed through the settlement.
The village was still poor. The roads were uneven, the houses worn, and the permanent buildings Albert had planned were far from complete. Even so, compared to the silence of Oderick's dim room, this crude activity felt alive.
I stopped in front of the wooden steps and turned to face them.
"Stella, Ivan."
Both of them immediately straightened.
Stella's reaction was quiet and careful, the instinct of someone who had lived too long under orders. Ivan's response was much more direct; his broad chest lifted, and his eyes sharpened as if he were already waiting for his first task.
"Find Hana Frieland," I said. "She should be near the warehouse or the farmland. Tell her the two of you are new citizens of Constantia. Before you begin working, I want you to see this village through her eyes."
Stella looked up slightly when she heard the word citizens. Her expression was still cautious, but it was calmer than before. The fear that had clung to her since her arrival had not vanished, yet it no longer seemed to choke every breath she took.
"Yes, Lord Fragha," she answered softly.
Ivan, on the other hand, gave a wide smile that made his excitement almost impossible to hide. The word craftsman still seemed to be burning inside him like a forge fire. "Understood, Lord. I'll go meet her at once."
"Listen carefully to what she tells you," I added. "You will both be working for this village. It is better to understand the people before serving them."
The two nodded. Stella bowed politely, while Ivan gave a firmer, more energetic response. Then they turned and walked toward the farming area, where the sea of gold—our wheat field—swayed beneath the wind.
For a moment, I watched them go.
The golden stalks rolled in waves under the sunlight, brushing against one another with a soft rustling sound. That field was one of the few real assets Constantia had right now. It was food, wealth, and survival all at once. If this village was going to endure the coming winter, those golden waves would matter more than any speech I gave.
Then I turned to Hans Carter.
The bespectacled man was holding the stack of papers Viktor had brought earlier as if it were treasure. His thin arms hugged the documents close to his chest, and his magic staff was tucked awkwardly under one arm. Compared to his earlier panic, there was now a strange light in his eyes whenever he glanced down at the papers.
"Hans," I said.
He flinched, then quickly pushed his glasses back up. "Y-yes, Lord Fragha?"
"I do not want to waste time. Your first task is to report the total wheat stock in the warehouse."
His eyes focused.
"Count every amount we have gathered," I continued. "Compare it with the current number of villagers, the new arrivals, and the food needed to survive the coming winter. I need accurate numbers. When the snow falls, not one citizen of Constantia should starve because of careless calculation."
Hans adjusted his glasses again, but this time his hand was steadier. The fear on his face did not fully disappear, yet something sharper rose behind it. This was no longer the expression of a failed Rank E mercenary trying not to faint. It was the face of a man whose mind had found work suited to it.
"Leave it to me, Lord Fragha," Hans said, his formal tone returning little by little. "This is not difficult. I will make sure every gram is recorded."
"Good," I replied. "Report to me once you have the numbers."
Hans gave a quick bow, nearly dropping one page in the process. He caught it against his chest, looked embarrassed for half a second, then hurried toward the direction of the warehouse with the papers still held tightly in his arms.
Now, only Arad remained with me.
The former commander of Westhound stood with perfect posture. His face was calm, and his movements were controlled, but his eyes betrayed him. Behind that discipline was a quiet restlessness, the gaze of a father worrying about a child who was still far away from his reach.
I did not let him carry that question for long.
"Come, Arad," I said. "Let's find Viktor."
He nodded. "Yes, Lord."
We walked toward the village entrance, where Viktor was supervising the unloading of the remaining logistics from his horse-drawn wagon. The purple-haired merchant looked tired. His clothes were still neat, but dust clung to the edges of his coat, and the brightness of his usual merchant smile had weakened.
When he noticed me approaching, he immediately bowed.
"Lord Fragha, I was just about to—"
"Viktor," I cut in. "There is one more task for you, and this cannot be delayed."
His expression stiffened at once. Perhaps he had already learned that whenever I spoke in that tone, his workload was about to increase.
"I want you to depart for the Asgard border today," I said. "Pick up Arad's adopted child and bring him to Constantia. Arrange the safest escort you can. Use emergency funds if necessary. The child's safety is now a priority of this territory."
For a moment, Viktor did not answer.
He glanced at Arad, who had gone completely still beside me. The former mercenary's face remained composed, but his held breath was obvious. Viktor noticed it too, then looked back at me with a long, heavy sigh.
"Retrieving a child from an unstable border region is risky, Lord," Viktor said. "Especially on such short notice."
"I know."
"The road will not be simple. Depending on the situation near the border, it may require guards, extra supplies, and more coin than expected."
"I know that as well."
Viktor's smile became strained. "Then perhaps this task can wait until tomorrow, after I—"
"Do it," I said, my voice hardening slightly, "or I may forget to repay the money I borrowed from you to buy paper, mercenaries, and slaves."
Viktor froze.
"Lo-Lord Fragha."
I stared at him without blinking.
His lips trembled once, then pressed into a thin line. "Ta-ta-but..."
His complaint faded before it could become a real refusal.
In the end, Viktor accepted.
His expression became flat, the face of a merchant who had been forced to swallow a loss while already calculating how to recover it later. Since the wagon had finished unloading the remaining logistics and the leftover wealth from the wheat sale had already been secured, he began preparing to depart again without much delay.
Before he left, Arad stepped forward and told him the exact location where the child could be found. Viktor listened carefully, despite the exhaustion on his face. He asked only what was necessary, repeated the location once to confirm it, then climbed onto his wagon.
The wheels began to turn.
Clatter. Clatter.
Arad watched the wagon leave until it moved away from the village entrance. Only then did his shoulders loosen slightly.
"Thank you, Lord," he said in a low voice. "You are too kind to me."
His gaze remained in the direction Viktor had gone.
"Though... I think you should also allow Viktor to rest."
I looked at the road for a moment, then answered calmly, "When this matter is finished."
Arad said nothing more, but relief was clear in his eyes.
After Viktor prepared to depart, Arad and I walked toward the open field.